


Haunting 101

by Zaxal



Category: Psych
Genre: Ghosts, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlton is the only one who can see Shawn, but helping him? He didn't sign up for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The funeral had been a somewhat over-the-top affair, and he supposed that was fitting. Though the ceremony had been thankfully brief, the milling about afterward had taken ages. It seemed everyone there had a story to tell, one last bit of attention, worship for the man in the closed coffin. When they'd asked him, he'd had a polite response at the ready. His mother had taught him not to speak ill of the dead, and no matter how infuriating he had been in life, Carlton could give him that small respect.

There had been tears and laughter – plenty of both but none of it his – and then they'd parted ways having said goodbye. Forever.

That thought was the first to catch him, had him shifting uncomfortably as he pulled his suit jacket off, tossed it over the back of his couch. There weren't going to be any surprises. No more meddling, no more intrusions, no more laughter. No more anything. He halted, the briefest pause, regret and sadness settling like a heavy stone in his stomach.

He shook it off, reminded himself that there was nothing he could have done. Nothing he hadn't tried. How often had he warned him to stay away, leave the real danger to the people trained and equipped to handle it? It was his own fault, and he had been lucky that he hadn't gotten Guster killed as well.

Carlton tried being angry about it, but it all faded in the knowledge that Spencer was dead. Had died ensuring that the city was a safer place, his killers behind bars, awaiting justice on his behalf and the two other lives they'd taken before his. It left him feeling tired and somewhat depressed. Needing to sleep and get away from everything. Safety in the darkness away from his thoughts.

Because when he thought about the people who had been there, the people telling stories and laughing in spite of their tears, all he could think was that no one should be mourning Spencer. He should be there, laughing with them, making them laugh again.

His fault. If he'd been a better detective... Carlton shook the thought away. Down that road lay self-destruction and more self-hatred than he was capable of mustering right at this moment. He'd think about it later, come up with a way he had been prevented from stopping it. Get rid of that bitter taste of failed responsibility.

He stepped into his bedroom and pulled off his badge and holster in the dark, removed the belt around his waist and toed off his shoes. Sleep. Escape. He collapsed on his bed, and his eyelids began to fall gently closed.

"I thought it was a good service. Didn't you?"

Carlton shot up and out of the bed, instinctively reaching for his nightstand to grab his gun, aiming it in the dark towards the direction of the voice. Slowly, he reached over and turned the bedside lamp on.

The yellow light flickered on, revealing a patiently smiling Shawn Spencer sitting cross-legged on his bed.

Carlton tried to process it all but failed, managing to find words through his rage. "You're lucky I don't shoot you right now on principle alone."

Shawn looked hurt, putting his hand on his chest as if his heart ached. "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"I was happier when you were in the coffin and in the ground," Carlton snarled, lying through his teeth. His gun remained steadily pointed at Shawn, unwavering even as he realized that he was wrong. Part of him – a rather large part of him at that – was suddenly so very happy to see Shawn there. In the flesh. Alive. It hurt. God, it did, because they'd been lied to, and Shawn had been milking the attention all along, but part of him was so desperately relieved that it had all been a farce.

"Oh, Lassie, we both know that's not true." He smiled again sunnily, and Carlton twitched the gun; a reminder.

"Regardless. I should kill you for putting all of us – them – through that."

"You could try!" Shawn slipped to the edge of the bed, stood with the barrel of the gun hovering inches over his chest. "But you wouldn't. We both know better."

"One question, Spencer. Answer one question for me, then get the hell out."

"Shoot," Shawn said, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Why?"

"Why?" His expression shifted, looking genuinely surprised. "Well. I didn't mean for it to happen. Just doing some routine snooping, following a vision like I usually do. Found some stuff and was on my way out, happy as you please, and they grabbed me." He shrugged, frowning. "Rest of it's kind of a blur, really. Remember that it hurt. In and out because of the pain. Then..." He shrugged again, smiling now, holding out his arms as if to say 'here I am'.

"That's not what I meant," Carlton growled. That had been the speculation, both from the coroner and the detectives working the scene, but that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted – needed – the truth. "Why did you fake your own death?"

Shawn's smile fell, and he suddenly looked so very sad, "Dude. Lassie." He stepped forward, the barrel of the gun sliding without resisting into his chest. "I didn't."

It took every tiny drop of willpower he possessed not to pull the trigger. His eyes widened, and he took a step back, the small gap between the bed and the wall suddenly the only distance between him and what any irrational person – including himself, it seemed – would classify as a ghost.

He touched the barrel where it had disappeared into Shawn – it was cold as ice, solid, real. "Spencer, what the hell?"

"That's what I said." He plopped back down on the edge of the bed which didn't bounce, the blankets remaining exactly as they had been from Carlton's body. "I thought I was supposed to, y'know, move on or whatever, but man, I'm here. And I can float through things. Check this out." Shawn closed his eyes and sank into the bed, getting as far as his waist before he snapped back up to the surface, sitting on it again. "Dunno what that's all about."

"Probably because you're dead," Carlton said, trying to grasp at any logical explanation for what he was seeing.

"I get that." Shawn sighed, "But I'm not understanding why I'm all here-ish."

"And you came to me asking for help?" Carlton shook his head, slowly putting his gun back on the nightstand.

"No." Shawn rolled his eyes and sat cross-legged again. "I went to see my dad, Gus, and Jules. They're all at Dad's house eating steak and crying. Well, not my dad but not like I expected that anyway. I did everything I could to get their attention, but nothing. The best I got was I gave them all goosebumps when I touched them, but Dad turned the air conditioning off and opened the windows. They weren't even trying." He sulked. "And here I thought Gus would at least think for a second that it might be my ghostly self coming to say hello."

"So why are you here and not with them?"

"Dunno!" Shawn flopped back on the bed, bouncing himself even though the bed remained immobile. He put his hands behind his head. "Felt something start pulling me, and I thought I'd follow it. See where it led, and I ended up here right when you came in through the door." He smiled slightly, "Thanks for being a little sad, buddy. I thought you'd be glad to see me go."

"You're a liability and an annoyance, but I never wanted you dead," Carlton leaned against the wall, watching Shawn with narrowed eyes. "None of them could see you?"

"Nope." Shawn frowned again, staring up at the ceiling. "Couldn't see me or hear me. And I couldn't touch them. Couldn't move any of the stuff around them either. Like I wasn't there at all." He closed his eyes, his expression kept carefully neutral though Carlton could guess at how hard it had been for him. Shawn had always thrived on focus and attention – like a plant to the sun. To have it denied to him – possibly for a long time and from the ones he loved the most – had to hurt.

But there was something much more pressing to him, now that he thought about it. "So why can I?"

"Ding ding, Lassie, you found the Daily Double. Please make sure your answer is phrased in the form of a question."

"Can't you take this seriously for one minute?"

Shawn's eyes snapped open, and he leaned up, scowling and glaring. "I am. Believe it or not, I don't want to be stuck here for the next however long with only you to keep me company."

"Then don't. Go out and find someone else." He sneered, "I'm sure there's got to be another psychic in Santa Barbara dying to meet you now."

Shawn laughed humorlessly, "If it's all the same to you, I'll pass."

"It's not all the same to me. I don't want you here."

"Yes, you do." Shawn peered up at him, smiling almost cruelly. "If I'm here, you know what I'm getting up to. You know I'm safe. If you force me out, I'll be roaming God-knows-where, and I could be exorcised if that even works or, worse, ignored. I could turn into a mean, scary ghost maybe and hurt others because no one else can see or hear me. I could go crazy, and you're too good to want that for me or anyone else."

Carlton was uncomfortably aware that Shawn was right. The idea of Shawn slowly being driven mad by a world he couldn't be a part of made something inside of him feel cold and unhappy. He sighed, and Shawn's smile brightened. "Fine, you can stay." He eyed Shawn critically. "Any idea how this is supposed to work?"

"None. I didn't get a _Handbook for the Recently Deceased_ or anything. But if the multitude of movies I've seen are any indication, I'm supposed to find something to help put me at peace so I can move on."

"Peachy. Feeling unfulfilled?"

"Not really. But there's good news too, Lassie."

"What?" he asked, feeling dread ball up in his stomach like he already knew the answer before Shawn spoke.

"Since you're the only one who can see me, it's your job to help me move on!" Shawn beamed, "We get to work together again!"

Okay. New theory. He had died in a raid on the hideout of the people he thought killed Shawn. His funeral had gone by with a few passing mourners before everyone moved on with their lives. Someone undeserving had been promoted to Head Detective, and all of his belongings had been split. The antiques to the museums in Santa Barbara, the guns to Hank, a few sentimental objects to Lauren and his mother, and everything else shipped off to Victoria for her to handle.

As for him? He was in hell. His own personal hell where he was stuck with Shawn Spencer for the foreseeable future.

"Absolutely not." Shawn scowled, and Carlton continued before he could be interrupted. "You can stay here. I'll talk to you no matter how much you drive me nuts because you're right. I don't want you to be absolutely miserable. But moving on? Your problem, not mine."

"Rude," Shawn complained, but he bounced off the bed anyway with another bright smile in place. "But fair deal." He walked through the nearest wall, giving Carlton some much-needed space. He slowly sank back down on his bed. Sleep tempted him again, and he gave in after a long struggle, hoping against hope that things would be normal after he woke up again.


	2. Chapter 2

He awoke to a dark room, silent and alone. Rubbing his eyes, Carlton sat up, wholly convinced that he'd had one of the oddest stress-fueled dreams of his life, and he'd had a lot over the years. The digital alarm clock at his bedside said 3:35 in bright green letters, and he flinched away from it. Got up and walked through his house with the lights off, afraid of what he might see if he dared turn them on. Perhaps, he mused with a frown, he'd be more upset if there was nothing there.

He turned on the light above the stove in his kitchen, the faint illumination revealing nothing except what he already knew would be there. Carlton shook his head, silently scolded himself. He knew better than to believe in ghost stories. The supernatural – what a joke. He ought to have known better.

But hope could make a man believe in the oddest things. When the only light on in his apartment flickered – faulty bulb, amateur wiring; it wasn't like he was living in the best part of town, after all – his chest tightened, demanding that he turn, look. He almost didn't. It was silly to go on believing in a fairy tale. Grief was grief, and Carlton hadn't given his delusions the benefit of the doubt since he'd been very small.

But he couldn't help but wonder.

Shawn was looking at him, eyes wide with worry and fear, frowning as he perched on the nearest cabinet. "Lassie?" His voice was small. Carlton didn't respond right away, eyes moving to the light as it flickered again after a moment. When he looked directly back at Shawn, the despair in his expression made Carlton sigh.

"I can still see you."

The light stopped flickering. "Don't sound so disappointed." But for all his pouting, there was a hint of a smile, happiness because he could still be seen by someone. Even if Carlton hadn't been a good detective, he would have known that Shawn had been out, visiting the others, looking for validation when none of them could give it to him. Shawn looked at him, concerned, "Why are you up this early? Don't tell me this is the normal Lassiter routine."

"No. Went to bed too early and couldn't sleep through the night. Wanted to see if..." _if you were real_ "...if you were still here." He smothered a yawn, closing his eyes and attempting to stave off the exhaustion that remained with him. "Thought you'd be bored."

"Bored? Me?" Shawn beamed. "There's always something going on in the city, Lassie. Just have to know the right places to look."

Carlton held up a hand to stop him. "I really don't want to know. Unless you've got a crime to report."

"You don't want to hear all about my misdeeds and adventures?"

"I want to make a cup of coffee and get ready for the longest day of my life." Shawn blinked, expression wavering in confusion. "O'Hara is coming back to work today. She's either going to be pushing herself to the limit and snapping at anyone who tries to take pity on her, or she's going to be withdrawn and distracted, and either way, I have to deal with it."

Shawn's smile fell. "She won't want anyone to think something's wrong. She'll overcompensate." He looked down at his feet, scowling. "I can't- It's not like I could do anything, either." He lifted his head, eyes practically glowing with perceived brilliance. "Unless... You could help me!"

"I already told you. No."

"It's not about that!" Shawn slipped off the cabinet, grinning brightly. "You were there when they pronounced it, right?"

Carlton nodded. He had been, could remember that moment with startling, high-definition clarity. Everything about Shawn's body, where they'd found it, just before the EMTs covered him up, and they were all sent away to let the detectives on the case take over. "Yeah."

"So say that you started getting a headache or something, and the next morning, you found out my psychicness had passed on to you." He was beaming away still. Like he'd come up with the perfect plan. Like he'd found the last piece of the puzzle and everything else would slid neatly into place.

Remembering that smile from other occasions was the only thing that made him sound defeated as he said, "No."

"Yes."

"No, Spencer."

Shawn frowned. "Please?" Carlton sighed, and Shawn quickly continued. "Pretty please with whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and a cherry on top?"

He snapped, "I won't lie to them like that." Shawn's eyes widened minutely, his mouth clicking closed guiltily. He almost looked hurt, and Carlton realized how it sounded. It was heavy with blame. If Shawn had been truthful, had done what he was supposed to, he might still be alive. "Damn it, Shawn. I didn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter." Shawn gave him a winning smile, but the light flickered nearby, and Carlton was almost certain he knew what that meant now. "You were right. You, my dad, Gus. Everyone. I should have known when playtime was over." He chuckled, "My luck was going to run out eventually. At least this way, no one else got hurt."

Carlton disagreed. Gus, Juliet, Henry – they would all be hurting. Every time they found something of his, every time someone told a joke they thought he might make, every time they remembered, they'd be hurting. But as much as he wanted to say it, he knew Shawn was hurting too. Would be every time he met another limitation of his new existence. Carlton himself was too tired to argue with him. He turned on his coffee pot without answering.

The next time he looked up, Shawn was gone.

\-----

Carlton spent the day working alongside Juliet, letting her work out her frustrations and sorrow in small, forgivable breaches of the regulations they were supposed to hold to. She made it most of the day, held everything carefully together, but Carlton had to step in. She was tearing into a suspect in interrogation with as much enthusiasm as he usually did when he thought he'd found a weakness.

"Det. O'Hara." He touched her arm, led her outside. Her shoulder shook with the effort of keeping herself under control. "Let me handle the rest of this."

"Carlton," she protested.

"As a friend, O'Hara. Go take a break. Cool off. Then we'll get back to work."

She nodded, reluctantly, straightening up, still shaking in spite of her resolve. She finally looked at him, unable to keep from sounding upset. "Don't you care?"

Carlton nodded, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. Instead, he said, "Yelling at that piece of scum won't bring him back."

"I know that! Carlton, I'm fine," she stubbornly insisted. "I can do my job without someone holding my hand. You're not my senior partner anymore. And unless you have a legitimate complaint as Head Detective, then I'm going to go back in there and finish what I started."

Carlton hated himself even as he murmured, "Jules."

He saw the kaleidoscope of hurt, anger, and sadness that flashed over her face before she turned on her heel, leaving the room with a defiant slam of the door. Carlton sighed and slumped against the wall, wishing for once that he could be empathetic, compassionate, anything like other people.

He looked back at the room leading to the interrogation room. He stood, straightened his suit and tie, lifted his head and walked back in to do the only thing he was good for.

By the time he got back to Juliet, her eyes were rimmed with pink, but she stubbornly led him out to the Crown Vic, eager to keep working and keep proving that there was nothing wrong.

\-----

The lights flashed brightly the moment he turned them on, and Carlton barely had enough time to tiredly realize what that meant before Shawn was standing in front of him, arms crossed, lips drawn into a tight line. "You made her cry."

Carlton shrugged, loosened his tie as he walked around Shawn. "I didn't see you. Where were you hiding?"

"Don't change the subject." Carlton felt a chill freeze his spine, his lungs as Shawn walked through him to stand in front of him again. "Why?"

"She was going to be upset at me regardless. Either now because I stopped her or later because I didn't. I thought I'd try going for the least damaging." He slid his tie off from around his neck. "She'll thank me for it later."

"And what about what she needs now?"

Carlton glared. "Many things, I'm sure. A shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to, a friend. Pity?" He shook his head. "That's the last thing she needs."

"Like you'd know."

"I'm so sorry that I'm not cleaning your mess up to your standards." Shawn's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Please. Enlighten me about what you're going to do about it." It was harsh, cruel, but Carlton was doing the best he could. Having Shawn criticize him for it wasn't going to help him feel any more charitable or more likely to play nice. He was doing what he had to do. Shawn couldn't possibly understand.

"You're lucky I can't hit you."

"I'd have arrested you for assaulting a police officer," Carlton said coolly. "Go on. Keep threatening me, Spencer."

The lights flashed dangerously bright. "I'm going to annoy you until the day you die, Carlton."

"So nothing's changed."

Shawn snarled, a ghastly, otherworldly growl that sounded like it came from every direction at once. The lamp nearest Carlton flew off the small table near the door, the lightbulb shattering in an explosion of sparks and glass. Carlton closed his eyes instinctively but didn't move, feeling the small burns and cuts litter his nearest arm before it all faded into darkness.

Carlton couldn't see, asked quietly, "Spencer?"

"I... uh. Didn't know I could do that." He sounded much less angry. "Did it hurt you?"

"I've had worse." He walked gingerly over to the lightswitch, turned it on, and looked at the carnage littering the entrance hallway. 

Shawn stood guiltily over his mess, head down. "Sorry about your lamp."

Carlton wanted to return the apology with one of his own, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd done what he needed to, and Shawn had pushed him. Of course he'd pushed back. Maybe, though, he supposed, he'd pushed too hard. "It's fine. I think Victoria bought it, anyway." He looked down at the broken glass with a critical eye.

"Too ugly to not be broken, really," Shawn attempted to smile up at Carlton who nodded slightly in agreement. Suddenly, Shawn's eyes widened, and he was smiling again, all thoughts of their argument obviously far gone from his mind. "You know what this means?"

"I'm going to have to clean this up?"

"Yes! Well. Not what I was going for, but yeah, I guess so. Sorry, Lassie. But!" He grinned excitedly. "I can move stuff!" He laughed with far too much triumph in his voice for someone who had died less than a week ago. "I'm not gone yet!"

Carlton allowed himself a small smile. He could have pointed out that it was possible Shawn could only affect the world when he was extremely angry, when emotions carried him away, and he knew that would make him unhappy. Shawn kept himself in check, regardless of how over-the-top he seemed. Having his emotions dictate whether or not he could interact with the world around him would probably only result in more broken lamps.

He'd figure it out eventually on his own anyway. For now, Carlton let Shawn have his victory.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, it didn't seem fair. Out of all the people who Shawn could be stuck with, it was Carlton who had never had much patience or affection for him even when he'd been alive. It was driving them both slowly bonkers, and it had only been a few days. He could tell Shawn was getting restless with it, with the need to do something, to have an impact again. Carlton had refused several more times to act as Shawn's conduit to the outside world even though it only frustrated them both more. Carlton hated that it was him who could see Shawn. Not because of the annoyance or the burden – though both were taxing him as well – but because Shawn deserved someone who would be willing to do that for him. Who had not only put up with his shenanigans but encouraged them. Took part in them.

His stomach clenched when he realized he was thinking of Shawn in the past tense again. Carlton had caught himself doing that several times over the last few days – sometimes when he was in the same room as Shawn – and every single time he had to find something solid to touch, to lean against. To ground him.

The contradiction was simple, but it left his head spinning. Shawn was the past. He was gone forever for everyone except Carlton. He could see the lingering effects of grief everywhere he looked. It felt like the world itself was mourning Shawn Spencer's passing – the days had been overcast, heavily clouded and weakening the sun for most of the days since his funeral. But as much as it seemed everyone else mourned, Carlton came home to find Shawn being an annoyance, attempted cheeriness, camaraderie that neither of them felt but both had to fake for the time being.

However long that would be.

He felt a cold chill run down his spine, and Carlton's eyes snapped up, peering around the room to try and see something – anything – that indicated Shawn was near. He flinched when he saw nothing, still haunted by the chill that had seemed to follow him around for the last few days. "I still can't see you," he mumbled quietly to himself and to whoever else might be listening.

After a moment, he added, "But get off my desk, Spencer."

For some reason, Carlton couldn't see Shawn when they were outside of the house. It was a blessing and a curse, really. He instinctively wanted to keep an eye on Shawn at all times, to make sure he wasn't getting into trouble or setting up some prank or another while Carlton wasn't paying attention. But he knew that if he could see him, then he'd be constantly distracted by something no one else could even see.

The chilly presence encompassed him for a moment, freezing him to his core, usually meaning Shawn had walked through him. It was one of Shawn's favorite tricks, and he always teased Carlton about how he stopped moving, stopped breathing, probably stopped thinking until he'd had a moment to recover.

"You look like you've seen a ghost" was rapidly becoming the most annoying phrase in the English language.

"Carlton?" He looked up to see Juliet, her mouth set in a determined line as she watched him. Careful as always not to let him see how much she was still struggling with Shawn's death. "The uniforms just got in with Michelle Burns. She's in Interrogation B."

He nodded, pulling his thoughts away from Shawn and towards the case at hand. He was running through the details of the case, thinking while going through the motions the way he had been for years now. Not that there wasn't passion and excitement in it, but he made his way through the crowd on autopilot, lost in thought.

Michelle Burns had a long-standing feud with her professor, Dr. Bancroft who had been found in his office, covered in deep burns that had been made before he died. Meant to make him suffer. It hadn't been a difficult leap to make once the other professors and students had pointed at Michelle.

Hr fingers tapped away nervously on the edge of the table, her head whipping up with wide eyes the moment she heard the door open. Carlton slipped into the seat across from her, folding his hands on top of the table as he leveled a look at the nervous girl.

Or at least he tried. Movement caught his eye, and Carlton raised his head to look at the mirror sharply. His chest tightened, and the air in his lungs rushed out. Shawn leaned against the far wall, legs and arms crossed, head tilted as he peered with narrowed eyes and a serious expression at Michelle.

She followed his gaze, looking into the mirror, and Carlton knew he should look away. But he found himself turning, to see only the blank wall staring back at him. "Sir?"

He glanced back in the mirror, seeing Shawn leaning forward, eyes wide, mouth moving tentatively though Carlton couldn't hear what he was saying. His hands pushed him forward from the wall, speech obviously picking up in tempo, trying to say something. Carlton tried to meet his eyes and shook his head, wanting to gesture that he couldn't hear but knowing that it would only raise questions.

He looked back at Burns, frowning as he demanded, "Tell me about Dr. Bancroft, Ms. Burns."

By the end of the conversation, he was fairly sure she was innocent. Bancroft was an asshole, and Burns was a model student who happened to disagree with public humiliation in the classroom. She had given him several other people to look into, told him about people everyone else happened to forget. He thanked her for her time and turned his head to watch her leave.

Shawn's reflection was halved, only the right half of his body in the reflection of the mirror. Carlton forced his expression to remain neutral but Shawn noticed the way his gaze lingered. His grin was perfectly reflected, erasing the juvenile lop-sidedness that Carlton knew so well.

Carlton shivered and stood, leaving the room quickly before the creepy image seared itself into his brain.

\-----

The moment he opened the door to his house, there was a rush of cold. Carlton closed his eyes, taking a shuddering breath as Shawn threw himself through him. "You are a complete and total jackass."

Shawn must have passed through the door, because he was halfway through a sentence before Carlton could hear him. "-so she's totally innocent, but so are Grey and Allaric. Or if they're guilty, they're acting totally normal, so A+ sociopathic tendencies. Mrs. Bancroft's son from her first marriage – you need to look into him Lassie because I don't know what he did, but that kid's up to something and-"

"Spencer, breathe," Carlton ordered.

Shawn paused long enough to take a long breath, temporarily silencing himself. He smiled sheepishly at Carlton, following him through the house as Carlton made his way to his bedroom. "You know I don't need to do that, right?"

"I need you to. It gives me a break from listening," he said, slipping off his jacket, holster, and badge. "The son?"

Shawn nodded eagerly, his pace significantly slowed now that Carlton had reaffirmed that he could see and hear him. Shawn was always loud at first, always demanding attention. Demanding proof, which was good for Carlton because it meant he didn't have to ask for his own. "Danny. He's shifty as hell, and he's obviously hiding something. I didn't get to tail him much today. I wanted to get home before you did."

Carlton paused, watching as Shawn sprawled shamelessly out on his neatly-made bed. "Home," he repeated, feeling something inside him twist at the way Shawn shrugged, his hand waving nonchalantly.

"Not like I have anywhere else, Lassie. My apartment's been cleaned out, the lease on the Psych office is about to expire, and even if I considered that house of Henry's home, it's not like he could see me anyway." He grinned. "Home is where the not-quite-beating heart is."

Carlton needed a drink, but he didn't have alcohol in the house, and he didn't feel like leaving Shawn behind to go somewhere and get some or get wasted. It wouldn't help either of them if he started avoiding home – not that he hadn't thought about it from time to time, but then he remembered the broken lamp and the idea of Shawn becoming so enraged that he destroyed the house had him coming back every day as soon as he could.

"I saw you. At the station earlier. In the mirror."

Shawn perked up off the bed, beaming, "I thought you had!"

"But only in the reflection. And I couldn't hear you talking," Carlton shook his head. "Weird."

"Tell me about it," Shawn said. "But that's an improvement, right?"

"If you say so."

"Could you see me in the mirror before?" Carlton shook his head. "And you couldn't see me on the desk?" He shook his head again, headed for the kitchen to fetch himself food, aware that Shawn was right behind him, still prattling away. "Well, that's okay. We'll figure out like a system of signals or something to make sure I can communicate with you when you can't hear me."

"Can we go entirely to silent communication eventually?"

He felt Shawn's hand pass through him, freezing him to his core. Carlton stumbled against the wall, his eyes pulling to meet Shawn's as he slowly regained the ability to breathe. Shawn smiled apologetically. "Was just trying to push you. Sorry. I-" He laughed. "I forget, you know. That I'm not..." He trailed off, expression turning serious.

Carlton spoke up, "What does it feel like?"

Shawn shrugged, not looking at him. "It doesn't feel like anything. I can't feel anymore, not like that. But when I touch you, I can... It's like I'm with you. Like... Like an echo or something. Emotions, they feel a little bit like actual things. And I know you hate it, I do. But it's something in a sea of nothing else." Shawn glanced up at him, attempting to smile and failing to find a real one. "And I'm selfish, Lassie. I want to feel something."

Carlton took a deep breath and nodded, watching Shawn carefully as he considered. Selfish? No. Maybe he had been once, but Shawn wasn't selfish. Not when it mattered. Carlton nodded again and raised his hand, resting against the wall. He turned his palm to Shawn, fingers together, making an offer though he couldn't quite bring himself to voice it.

Shawn's smile slowly grew into something real, something hopeful. He lifted his hand and pushed it against Carlton's hand. The cold rested against his palm, bearable though it took Carlton several moments to clear the knee-jerk shutdown his brain attempted at the familiar touch.

Shawn's eyes closed, and Carlton almost pulled his hand away, unsure and more than a bit scared of what Shawn might be feeling because of him. But he waited, braced against the wall, his arm shaking as he continued to hold it up. Shawn's fingers curled between his, and Carlton wished suddenly that he could feel it – the scrape of nails, the warmth of his hand, all the bony knuckles and rough, work-worn skin.

Shawn pulled his hand away, eyes opening as he cradled it against his chest, blinking owlishly at Carlton. "Thank you."

Carlton pushed himself off the wall with a quick nod. "Yeah. Sure thing," he said gruffly before heading for the kitchen again. He wanted to ask what Shawn was thanking him for, but the possibilities were endless and worrying. It was better to keep things simple. So that when that day came when he came home to an empty house, it might not feel like his heart had been ripped from his chest again.


	4. Chapter 4

Carlton adjusted his tie nervously before knocking at the door to the Psych office for the last time. The thought was a heavy one, and it had almost been too much to confront. But he had seen Shawn's face the previous night when he'd revealed that the lease was up, and Gus had already begun clearing it out.

He was taken aback by the man who answered the door. Gus seemed like only a shadow of his former self. His shoulders slouched, there were bags under his eyes, and he made no attempt at a smile. "Hello, Carlton."

"Guster," he said, swallowing down things he couldn't say, assurances that Gus would think of as mocking his pain and loss.

It should have been him. He was Shawn's best friend, his partner in crime. He would have been upset, yes, but he would have found happiness eventually. From what Carlton had gathered, Gus was used to swinging at whatever curve balls Shawn threw at him. But even knowing that, Carlton knew he couldn't change whatever cosmic joke his life had become. Carlton could suffer the loss and survive. Gus seemed to be on his last legs.

"I've tried to clean up," he said as he led Carlton through the lobby to the main room. "It's..." Gus obviously struggled. He brought a hand up, wiping tears away with the back of his hand.

"Hard as hell," Carlton supplied grimly.

"Yes," Gus agreed, his voice and expression dull. "It's as if we're packing him away."

"But you can't keep taking a lease out on this place just to avoid putting it all up."

Gus didn't even have the energy to glare at him. "Shawn would've."

"Spencer would've ditched all responsibility and been halfway across the continent by now," Carlton said. The familiar freezing sensation rushed through him, and Carlton closed his eyes, hoping that Shawn understood. Gus needed something else to focus on. Even if it was anger at Carlton, it would be something other than depression. Carlton understood that himself, had wasted hours and hours at the gun range pretending there was nothing wrong.

It didn't work, of course, but it provided a reprieve. And sometimes that was enough.

Carlton saw a spark in Gus's eyes as he turned. "Don't," he warned. "Shawn's- He was a good guy. He might have been silly and a jerk sometimes, but he- he was good." Gus shivered, and Carlton could imagine Shawn trying to hug his friend and passing through. Feeling the echo of grief, fondness, frustration, admiration. Love.

Carlton's stomach twisted. He gave a grunt and a nod, "Yeah. He was really something."

There were boxes open, and they packed in silence. Carlton kept his eyes peeled for something small he could sneak away. He wanted to give Shawn something of his own. In the midst of everything of Carlton's, he had to miss having even one thing that was absolutely, 100% his.

There was another knock at the door, and before either of them could move to answer it, Juliet strode in, stopping at the door and looking at the mess they had to work with. She and Gus shared a sad smile. Gus greeted her with a quiet, "Juliet."

"Hello, Gus," she nodded at the both of them. "Carlton." She glanced around, "Is Henry coming?"

Gus shook his head. "He said that he didn't want to pick up after Shawn anymore."

Carlton snorted but said nothing. Juliet's expression fell, and she walked into the room. After a moment, her expression firmed up, and she nodded. "We don't need him."

"No," Carlton agreed. "We don't." The next chill that pushed through him, he imagined, was pleased. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

It began as a somber assignment, but as with everything involving Shawn, it couldn't stay that way. They were tossing things into the boxes when something – a frog – missed, bounced off the rim of a box, and landed beneath Carlton's shoe. He stepped, the frog squeaked, its eyes popping out ridiculously from each side of the toe of his shoe.

There was a shocked silence as all three looked at the offending toy. And then, in the quiet, there came the first little laugh. Carlton's head lifted, looking squarely at Gus whose shoulders shook, his hand covering his mouth as he stifled the helpless laughter that bubbled up.

For a moment, Carlton saw a flash of the past, saw the two of them joking, side by side, Shawn grinning as Gus laughed. It faded slowly. Shawn was still gone, but the laughter he'd brought with him didn't. Juliet's giggles joined Gus's, and Carlton smiled.

"He used to hide that under my desk so I'd squeak it when I tried to work. Even... Even on the worst days," Gus mused, "he would make it so much better."

"Yeah," Juliet agreed. "Like when he'd show up in the middle of a tough case with a smile and some silly story that distracted you just enough."

"Almost like he was psychic." The other two paused and looked up at him, sharp with surprise. Carlton shrugged and tossed the frog carelessly into the box. The other two went on, talking, laughing, pushing slowly through their pain. Carlton kept mostly silent, almost smiling but not quite. Throughout the day, he looked for something to pocket, but before the end of the day, he ended up snatching up the frog from where it had fallen in the box.

\-----

There was an eerie silence in his house. He used to be used to silence, but he had recently come to anticipate Shawn's presence, his loudness. His company. Carlton squeaked the frog before tossing it on the couch. Tentatively, he called out, "Spencer?"

There wasn't an answer, and Carlton felt himself go cold in a way that wasn't related to Shawn being an ass. His throat closed in reflexive fear, and he forced himself to calm. He hadn't even considered that packing up the Psych office, closing it forever, looking at it that last time before climbing into his car meant putting Shawn away.

The others had time to adjust and accept their grief. Carlton's barreled into him so suddenly that he had to sit down. He stumbled to the couch, trying to breathe, work through the loss, push it down and away, but it wasn't that simple. He had believed... god, honestly believed that Shawn wouldn't leave. That he'd be waiting at home for Carlton.

He had pushed away, denied, ignored the possibility that he'd come home one day, and Shawn would be gone. Not gone like on his bike for several weeks before returning with a tan and a big smile but _gone_ gone. Like forever gone.

His breath shook in at the inhale.

When he let it out, he was going to have to let it all go. He couldn't let regret, guilt, sorrow slow him down or distract him. He would have to join the ranks of everyone else who had said goodbye to Shawn.

Carlton held his breath for a little while longer.

The frog squeaked.

Carlton's head lifted in surprised, his air rushing out in surprise as he turned his wide eyes towards the sudden sound. Shawn floated just above the frog, his own expression startled. Carlton didn't think, reaching out, feeling relief that mixed with realization when his hand passed again through Shawn's form.

Shawn's eyes met his, gleaming with emotion. Carlton began to pull his hand back, but Shawn reached out with his own, a band of cold wrapping itself around his wrist with Shawn's fingers. In an instant, he was blanketed in that chill, his hands frozen, hovering above Shawn's body, unsure of how to comfort anyone when it was a normal situation and not...

Carlton shivered. There was nothing like this, and he didn't care. Shawn could have been gone. Moved on, ascended, found something better, and he was suddenly aware of how selfish he was that he wanted Shawn to stay. Even though he was dead, miserable, and annoying, Carlton suddenly couldn't imagine him being gone. Those few moments of frightening doubt had been too close, too real, and even though Carlton knew, there was a difference between knowing and _knowing_ the truth.

"Lassie," Shawn said, his voice rough. "I had to see them. For a few more minutes. I thought I could get home quicker than that. I..." He breathed out, but Carlton didn't feel it, and that thought suddenly hurt though not so much as the idea of Shawn being gone. "I didn't mean..."

Carlton brushed his hand over the curve of Shawn's back, barely touching him, unsure. Shawn gave him mercy, murmuring, "Gus and Jules went out after they turned the key over. I sat with them for a while and tried to pretend. I thought," he chuckled humorlessly. "I thought you'd be glad for the peace."

Carlton couldn't speak, but he tried to let Shawn feel his fear, his nervousness, trying to make him understand what he couldn't put into words. Shawn ducked his head against Carlton's shoulder and shuddered. "I know," Shawn said. "I know. I'm an idiot." His voice was raw, heavy with regret and the things he couldn't change. The lights turned on suddenly, blazing brightly, too bright.

"I know," Carlton agreed. "Me too."

A bulb in the kitchen shattered, and the lights immediately all went out. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Trying to get better about that."

"You squeaked the frog," Carlton pointed out after a few quiet moments.

Shawn looked down at frog and kicked out at it, seeming almost bored. The frog squeaked and went sailing quickly flung itself into the far wall, squeaking again as it bounced off and again when it landed. Shawn looked between it and Carlton quickly, eyes wide and his grin practically beaming. "Did you see?"

Carlton nodded, "I did." He indulged Shawn with a small smile. "Do it again?"

Shawn lifted off of him and soared over towards the frog. He picked it up. It rested perfectly in his hands, moving as he manipulated it. He grinned brightly back at Carlton. He opened his mouth, obviously searching for words to explain how happy he was that there was something he could touch, something that linked him to the world around him.

Carlton didn't need him to say anything. Shawn's ethereal body suddenly seemed to blaze with color, his eyes brightly gleaming as his golden, sun-kissed skin almost glowed.

Shawn's grin turned mischievous. "Catch!"

He threw the frog, and Carlton's hand shot up, feeling the slap against his palm as his fingers closed around the toy. Shawn held up his hands, waggling his fingers. Carlton's smile widened as he tossed it back. Within minutes, Carlton was standing, pitching the frog back and forth, both of them smiling too hard at something so embarrassingly simple.

Shawn twirled it in his hands again as he flopped onto the couch. Carlton leaned over the arm, still half-smiling. "That's something."

Shawn squeaked the frog again before tossing it up and catching it again. "It is. It really, really is." But he put it to the side before fixing his gaze determinedly on Carlton. "Thanks, Lassie. This means so much to me." He floated up onto his knees. "All of it."

"All of?" Carlton frowned, standing up straight as Shawn floated up to eye level.

"I could feel so much," Shawn said. He laid out horizontal, flipped onto his back, watching Carlton with his face upside-down. "You've got a lot of emotions whirling around in that big ol' heart of yours." Carlton had learned a long time ago not to blink whenever Shawn made comments like that. But Shawn floated closer, peering at him carefully. "You meant it all, too."

Carlton shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. "I was startled."

Shawn frowned, "You see death every day, but it's been so long since something..." He considered, turning over, reaching out and touching his fingers lightly across Carlton's cheek. "Since something hit close to home."

"Still pretending to be psychic," Carlton assessed, his throat tight.

"No," Shawn corrected. "I can actually feel it." He frowned, the points of coolness moving as Shawn's fingers stroked across his skin. "Right there. I'm... I was actually important."

"Spencer." Shawn shook his head, but he didn't pull away. Carlton forced himself away from those scary, frightening thoughts that he didn't want to explore because he'd found the one thing that made him feel so weak, open, and vulnerable. It had been true for a few moments, and he knew that if – when – it came again, it would ruin him. Instead, he honed in on the phrase Shawn had used as realization slowly dawned on him. "What do you mean 'actually feel'?"

Shawn's lips curled in, surprised into silence before he finally said, "Oh. Well. It's uh. Um."

Carlton scowled and crossed his arms, waiting for an explanation.


	5. Chapter 5

It turned out to not be that complicated after all. Carlton sank down on the couch, Shawn's explanations ringing in his ears. It made sense, of course. More sense than the 'psychic' thing ever had to him, though he'd come to accept that it would be a mystery he'd likely never see solved.

Well, he'd been proven wrong again, hadn't he?

Shawn sat meekly on the arm at the opposite end of the couch, silent for once, giving Carlton time to work through the upset Shawn had just caused in his life. Or, well, had been causing for years now. But now Carlton knew, and everything fell neatly into line.

There was one question he had, the one answer Shawn hadn't given, and Carlton found himself asking, even though he knew he shouldn't, "How did you know it was them?" The pictures Shawn had sent them before his phone had been destroyed had given them all the hints they'd needed to find them, but no one had been clear how Shawn had gotten himself into trouble in the first place.

He almost regretted the question as it hung in the air between them. He was asking Shawn to think about his death, and that was a topic they'd silently agreed to avoid. It should be an easy enough answer – simply what Shawn saw that Carlton didn't. The vital clue that had escaped him. The detail that had made him too late and had sealed Shawn's fate.

"Lassie, you don't want-"

"Yes, I do." He glared at Shawn, unable to stop himself. If Shawn had confessed the truth, he would have been a brilliant detective. Or even as a consultant. They could have worked together in relative peace, and Carlton would have known without questioning that what led Shawn on was concrete evidence. He shouldn't blame Shawn. Especially not considering the circumstances they were stuck with now. They were both at fault, but being lied to felt worse than the blame he placed on himself. They'd all lost Shawn because of that lie.

Shawn buried his head in his hands but said nothing. "Spencer," Carlton prompted him again, voice firm and demanding.

The temperature in the room seemed to suddenly drop. Carlton heard a low hum of electricity, but the lamp nearby only flickered subtly. What drew Carlton's eye was a red line, a droplet of blood running from between Shawn's fingers, down the length of his arm. Carlton watched in horror as another drop slid down his hand, joining the preexisting stream down his arm. Shawn's shoulders shook.

Carlton gulped dryly as more blood slowly dripped down. "Shawn?"

Shawn's hands moved slowly down, his eyes pulling up to look at Carlton. Carlton immediately remembered the crime scene, the way Shawn's eyes had stared, almost colorless, glazed over in death. The pale corpse eyes stared at him now, intent, rimmed with blood that continued to drip down.

Shawn's entire body shook, and Carlton could feel the world shaking with him. Terror told him to flee, get out of his house, somewhere safe and away from this thing that had taken up residence in his home. Carlton swallowed nervously again and reached out, one hand resting on that bloody arm. Electricity raced through their contact, and Carlton pulled his arm back, startled. His hand came away wet.

He'd barely looked at the red blood – _Shawn's_ blood – on his hand before he felt a cold grip around his wrists, pushing him back. Shawn bent him back, snarling, the noise coming from all around him, shuddering with he walls of his house. Carlton took a deep breath and said as calmly as he could. "Spencer, stop."

Shawn must have heard the waver in his voice or felt the overwhelming fear that suddenly drowned everything else out as Carlton realized he was helpless. Shawn blinked once, his eyes regaining their color, and the next, the blood was gone. All of it. Even the stuff that had gotten on Carlton.

They both slowly looked to where they met, Shawn's hand passing through Carlton's wrist but somehow still holding him. Shawn dragged his eyes back to meet Carlton's. He laughed nervously. "Um. I." He pulled his hands away and soared off the couch to land back on his perch at the other end. He rubbed his hands together, eyes entirely on the movement and guiltily avoiding Carlton. "Sorry."

"Shouldn't've pushed," Carlton said, his voice weaker than he would have liked. His heart was beating loud and fast in his chest, still terrified and urging him to run. The image of Shawn remained seared in his head, along with the helplessness of being held immobile. "Sorry."

Shawn shook his head, and the silence seemed to stretch on for ages before Shawn broke it, mumbling quietly, "They made soup in the kitchen for the people they killed, made them comfortable before they died. It's a specific recipe to only one restaurant in the entire city. Gus picked it out right away."

"Everything had been cleaned up, though."

"Not well enough. They were careless when preparing, so some of it spilled onto the stove. They didn't think to wipe it away, and why should they? Except Gus has the Supersmeller. And I knew I had to do some more snooping before we could be absolutely sure." He shrugged carelessly. "So I did."

He bit down a multitude of admonishments. Shawn should have told them where he was going. Shawn should have called for backup. Shawn should have given up the psychic hoax years ago and told the truth and done a million things differently, and then... Then Carlton could have had him safe and sound and alive instead of this.

Except not. When Shawn had been alive, he had kept those emotions and that attachment carefully bottled up and put away. Now, though, things had changed. He wasn't the only one who could feel it if the last day was any indication.

Packing up the Psych office seemed like it had been years ago. Shawn's funeral still seemed like a dream, a thing he couldn't be sure if it were real or not, constantly lurking on the edge of his thoughts.

Shawn said suddenly, "I didn't mean to scare you like that." Carlton lifted his head, looking at Shawn who continued to twiddle his fingers, refusing to meet Carlton's gaze. "I don't know what happened. I was trying to remember, because that day's just really fuzzy, and I just... I got so mad."

"I shouldn't have pushed you," Carlton repeated, hoping that might be the end of it.

Shawn shook his head. "It wasn't you. It was them. I started thinking about everything, and the I just." He shivered and lifted his head, a quick smile thrown in place, obviously hiding what he really felt.

Carlton cut him off, "Don't lie to me, Shawn." Shawn's eyes went big and round, and Carlton continued sternly. "Not anymore."

Shawn's expression shifted into something more determined, concentrating. Carlton found himself nervously combing every inch of Shawn that he could see, hoping that he wouldn't see anything else that would make him think 'blood' or 'corpse' or anything else in that vein. Having a calm ghost in his house was novelty enough. He could do without the scary kind.

"I got so angry..." Shawn considered, his eyes closed as he tried to work through what he had been feeling. "And all I wanted was to hurt them." Slowly, he brought his eyes up. Still, thankfully, their usual hazel, though they were now intensely focused on him. "Except they're in prison. And you were the closest living person." He scowled, and Carlton couldn't tell if it was directed at him or at himself. "I wanted to make you pay."

"I didn't do anything to you."

Shawn's mouth tilted into a smile, but there was nothing friendly in his eyes. "But you're alive."

Carlton nodded slowly, refusing to take his eyes off Shawn. He knew how quickly he could get to one of his guns – less than a second, in the drawer of the coffee table in front of the couch – but they were useless if Shawn actually decided to attack him.

"Relax, Lassie," Shawn said, the tension slowly unwinding in his shoulders as he slid down to sit completely on the couch. "It's there, but I'm not going to do anything." He looked away. "You're the only one who can see me anyway. What would I do if you were gone?"

Carlton nodded again, silent but the fear and nerves from before had shifted into sudden anger. Of course. Shawn only wanted him around because he was the only one who could give him the attention he craved. Carlton was a creature of habit and routine, and Shawn had known it for years. Insinuating himself into Carlton's life steadily ensured that he was the one at the Shawn's mercy and not the other way around.

He stood up abruptly, headed for the door, fully intending to leave Shawn behind and go somewhere where he could be truly alone. He was a few steps away from it when Shawn appeared suddenly in front of him, standing with his arms thrown out, blocking the way unless Carlton wanted to walk through him.

He might be angry, but he wouldn't agitate Shawn by reminding him of his total inability to prevent the world from moving on without him. It was the only kindness he could spare. "Move, Spencer."

"I didn't mean... Lassie, it's not just that you can see me, right? I mean, you know that. You're my friend. You were before all of this."

Carlton sighed, his anger cooling to dying embers, still warm but no longer raging through him. "If we're friends, then let me go. I need some time to myself. This is a lot to process."

"Then let me leave."

"No." He put one hand on the door near Shawn's head, leaning in. "I deserve to have a say when I'm ready to talk to you again."

Shawn was afraid, panicking, clearly worried that Carlton wouldn't return. Carlton didn't reassure him, too emotionally exhausted from the last few hours to muster up the words. "Move," he growled, gratified as Shawn slipped to the side. Carlton closed the door and locked it behind him, almost certain that Shawn would follow him and finding that he didn't care. Out of sight, out of mind. All for the best.

\-----

Tom Blair's pub wasn't the best place to go for alone time, but Carlton wasn't avoiding people in general. Just the one. He purposefully sat where he couldn't see the mirrors in the bar, wary repeating the interrogation room incident. He could be forgiven. Since this whole mess had started, he had tried to be patient and understanding, and it wasn't as if he was planning to completely abandon Shawn.

He just needed to get away. Sort through all of his confusing, conflicting emotions without Shawn hanging over his shoulder and making it more difficult by clouding his head with his smile and his laugh that told Carlton everything was okay when it most definitely wasn't.

He wasn't going to get drunk. Just have a few drinks to dull the edges and allow himself time to cool down and think. It wasn't Shawn's fault that he felt the way he did. Carlton wasn't even the victim but even he felt murderous towards the people responsible for Shawn's death. To say that he'd wished for a more flexible justice system so he could deliver a satisfying final blow to them both wouldn't be doing his deep feelings of rage justice.

At the time, if not for Juliet pulling him back, he wasn't entire sure if he would have stopped himself or not. One of the bastards had smirked, teeth crooked and yellow, and Carlton would have given anything to knock each one methodically out of his mouth and just keep punching until that smile was gone.

He exhaled slowly, letting the rage flow out of him as a therapist had once suggested as a cure to his anger issues. It hadn't worked, not really, because he was still furious, but focusing on his breathing made it easier to cope with.

He barely heard the chair scraping across the floor before his eyes snapped open, looking at the person sitting across from him. She was a small woman with a round face and a somewhat sad smile. Her eyes dropped nervously to the table, and she asked quietly, "You can see them too, huh?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Who are you?" Carlton demanded, leaning his elbows on the table, staring the younger woman down with the same barely-concealed rage he usually reserved only for people who had committed especially heinous crimes. It only served to remind him of how far away he was from achieving true justice against Shawn's murderers and the glimpse he'd had of Shawn's body, bleeding, broken.

It didn't put him in the best mood.

Meekly, she answered. "I'm Maggie. I can see them too. Ghosts, spirits, wandering souls," she smiled slightly. "You've got a little shadow following you around. He hasn't left your side since you came in."

Carlton pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the sudden stress headache. Of course. Shawn never could leave well enough alone, not ever, and the thought certainly didn't help the anger rising inside of him, wave after wave of rage building behind his eyes. He imagined that Shawn would say that it meant he was a few bad incidents away from shooting lasers. He reached for his glass, downing another mouthful of his drink.

"But he looks guilty, so I'm guessing the two of you had a fight before you left whatever shared sanctuary you have."

"Shared sanctuary," he repeated the phrase with a sigh.

"The places where you can see him." Her smile faded, and she looked at where her hands folded on the table. "Where he haunts you."

"You're going to have to be more specific. He's been haunting me since before his death."

He felt a chilled touch on him, his arm going numb from the cold. He sighed slightly, not apologizing, not even a little. It was the truth. The incredibly horribly depressing truth. "How can you see him?"

"I'm a medium. A psychic of sorts."

Carlton snorted derisively. "No thanks."

"You know what I'm talking about, though. You know _who_ I'm talking about, more importantly." A quiet smile stole back onto her face, expression sad though somewhat amused. "He says he's sorry. He doesn't think before he opens his mouth sometimes. You know that, Lassie."

Carlton resisted. He knew she was talking about Shawn, undoubtedly, and even though he tried to resist the truth, he knew she was exactly what she said she was. It was a solid feeling in his gut, telling him to believe her. "I've had enough psychic mumbo jumbo to last the rest of my lifetime."

"I wouldn't say so. If you weren't open to the idea, it's not very likely that you'd ever gain those abilities. These kinds of forces almost always need a willing participant."

"I don't want it. I never did, and I never believed him when he said he was psychic either." He sneered and took another drink.

Before he swallowed it, Maggie asserted with a confidence that surprised him. "Then you must've had a very strong connection with him."

Carlton snorted, laughing and then gasping quickly as alcohol burned through his sinuses. Grabbing some napkins, he blew his nose and cleaned up the mess he made, shaking his head with only the slightest smile tilting on his lips. "He was my coworker. But we never got along, and we never had much of a personal connection at all." Unamused, he concluded, "Strike two, psychic."

Maggie seemed to shrink in her seat, and Carlton ignored any beginning pangs of guilt. The problem was that when Shawn had known things about him, he had _known_. The affair with Lucinda, the rough time he had been having with Victoria, the fear of snowglobes, his love of horses, and so on down the line. He understood that it had all been a trick of observation, that Shawn had seen things and then understood them on a higher level, a skill that had been trained into him by his father from an early age.

But if the person without any actual psychic connection could get all of that out of plain evidence, then the person with the special, magic cheating abilities ought to be able to do better.

The silence seemed to drag on before Maggie finally spoke again, her voice low and careful, "Whether you believe me or not – it doesn't matter. And just because neither of you sees your connection doesn't mean it isn't there. Person-specific hauntings don't happen for no reason. Not in my experience."

"And how much experience is that, exactly?"

Maggie looked up, looked between him and the empty air at his side, and Carlton felt his face warm at the implication. That Shawn had spoken and said roughly the same thing he had. "I've had my gift since I was 15. Unlike you, Lassie, I can see all spirits that aren't actively attempting to hide themselves. Whereas you just have the one that is, in his own way, connected to you."

"Don't," Carlton warned, "call me that."

"Well," Maggie said, hesitating before she explained. "You never gave me your name."

"Head Detective Carlton Lassiter of the SBPD."

"Magdalene Grant." She reached into the bag at her side, pulling out a notepad and scribbled on it before tearing the piece of paper out and sliding it to his side of the table. "Here's my number. I know a lot about this stuff, but I know you don't want to hear it right now. Take some time and think it over. And-" She bit her lip, looking nervously from the invisible Shawn back to him before forcing out the words. "And try to get along. You're all he has."

"Except for people like you."

"I'm not really a substitute for a good friend, detective." She watched as he tucked the piece of paper into his wallet before pushing herself away from the table. "Have a good evening. Both of you."

Carlton downed the last of his drink before ordering some water, delaying the inevitable going back. The condensation on his glass froze in a finger-drawing of a pineapple. Carlton, in spite of himself, smiled. He erased the pineapple and drew a square divided into nine parts, planting an X on the leftmost square. Shawn drew an O in the center. They played tic-tac-toe until Carlton finally felt safe enough to enter into his home and see Shawn face-to-face.

\-----

Shawn was waiting for him, sitting in the air patiently in front of the door, his eyes level with Carlton's. Carlton froze. He'd thought he'd been ready to come back, but today had easily been one of the longest days of his life, and Shawn's presence had always been such an upset that his immediate action was rejection.

However, the moment passed, and he turned, closing the door and locking it behind him. "Hey."

"Hey," Shawn answered as Carlton turned back to him. He gave a thin smile, trying though it was clearly a strain to manage that much. Carlton couldn't help but wonder if Maggie had seen that smile or if Shawn had put on his usual mask, his bright, wide smile, turning the charm up to eleven in order to get what he wanted, to make her believe whatever he wanted her to believe. "Lassie, I'm- I didn't mean it like that. You know that, right?"

"I do," he said. "But I'm way too tired to deal with any more of this tonight, Spencer. I'm going to bed."

Shawn shifted uncomfortably before stepping quickly in front of him, arms thrown wide as if that could've stopped Carlton if he'd decided to move through it. "Do you mind if I-? I mean, I want-" He huffed out irritatedly.

"You don't need to sleep," Carlton said, his eyebrows lowering as he frowned, trying to work out what Shawn was asking, why he was asking for it.

"No," Shawn conceded. "But I don't want to be all Loomy Supernatural Creepster or anything like that." His voice quieted, eyes dropping to the ground, embarrassed. "I don't want to be alone."

Carlton clenched his jaw, considering the pros and cons. They'd both been through a lot of stress today, and it wasn't like Shawn was asking for much. He cracked his neck and his knuckles before making his decision, answering before he could change his mind, "No touching me while I sleep or otherwise trying to mess with me."

Shawn looked back up, gratitude in his expression. "Wouldn't dream of it."

By the time Carlton stretched out in his bed, Shawn was curled up on the far side of the bed, his eyes open, not even attempting to feign sleep. "Thanks, man." Carlton grunted, turned off his bedside lamp, and was surprised by how quickly he forgot Shawn was nearby and fell asleep.

\-----

Carlton, in a spare time, looked up Magdalene Grant in the system. She had been picked up a few times for theft, though they'd never found the alleged items or conclusive evidence to make the charges stick. A Google search along with the words 'psychic' and 'medium' revealed a Facebook profile with a few public comments thanking Maggie for her help.

The next time he was in the interrogation room, he was stuck for an hour grilling a suspect, a man named Harry Torsten. But the two of them weren't alone. Shawn stayed in the mirror the entire time, miming out and pointing to minor tells that he was somehow missing due to the distraction.

They broke him down together, had him in tears, confessing to murders that had occurred only hours before with very little evidence gathered before they'd had to move to prevent yet another. Carlton tried not to appear too smug as they removed Torsten to be booked and put into a cell.

"Good job, Lassie."

Carlton whipped his head around, staring in the mirror. Shawn blinked several times before running forward, passing through the glass before reappearing, already halfway through a sentence, "-lly awesome! I don't have to just hang around the house anymore, I can-" he paced out of the mirror again, through the wall.

"Only the mirrors," he said, vaguely, and in an instant, Shawn popped back in, standing near to Carlton, near enough for him to feel the cold. 

"Yeah?" Carlton nodded, straightening his tie, eyes on the mirror as he checked his appearance. "Well, that sucks. But at least it's something. And hey, this works out perfectly. I'm gonna go follow Maggie around. Discreetly. See what her deal is. I'll meet you back at the house tonight, all right?"

Carlton nodded again. Shawn's grin widened, and he met Carlton's eyes. "Looking sharp today, Lassie." With an over-the-top wink, he beamed and walked out of the room again. Carlton felt his face grow warmer. He adjusted his tie again and walked purposefully out of the interrogation room, trying not to think about what Shawn had said.

A slow smile tugged on the corner of his lips, and he shook his head. If nothing else, it was almost comforting to see Shawn acting like himself again. He just wished, wished with all of his heart, that he wasn't the only one who could see it.


	7. Chapter 7

"Lassie," Shawn's voice piped up towards lunch. Carlton glanced subtly up at the darkened computer monitor, seeing Shawn's distorted figure leaning on the desk next to him, grinning brightly. "You need to eat something soon."

Quietly, he murmured, "I don't believe I'll be taking health advice from a ghost."

"Okay, less subtle," Shawn said easily, leaning close, his head tilted towards Carlton's. "You should come home for lunch. There's something I want to try."

"And you need me."

Shawn turned his head, his voice low in Carlton's ear, and he could imagine the wet heat of it, the comfortable intimacy that he'd shared with others translated to this moment, "I've always needed you, Lassie."

Carlton's hand clutched the pen in his hand tighter, feeling the jitter of it down his wrist and arm. Shawn had been more brazen in the last few days, more daring, to the point where he was blatantly suggestive, flirtatious, though he had no other outlet for it except for Carlton himself. He understood that it was just misdirected energy, Shawn's personality coming through now that he was no longer afraid. But at the same time, Carlton looked down to see the slight shake of the pen in his hand. Shawn had always been able to get under his skin.

By the time he made it home, his nerves had settled. Shawn waited near the door, beaming as Carlton walked through the door. "I took a two-hour break. I hope this is important."

Shawn fluttered his eyelashes, "Head Detective Lassie took a two-hour break for me? Gosh, don't I feel special." Carlton's eyes narrowed, and Shawn held up his hands, placating. "It is important. To me, anyway, and it shouldn't inconvenience you." After a moment of consideration, he added, "Not too much anyway." With a wide grin, he gestured towards the kitchen. "You first."

Carlton hesitated for a moment before he went to grab some leftovers. He knew Shawn wasn't far behind him, but he didn't anticipate how close he was until he felt a chill colder than the fridge touch his hand. He was used to Shawn's touches by now, but this was different, sliding beneath his skin, manipulating the bones and muscle, his fingers flexing before he grabbed the box out of the fridge.

He looked over to see Shawn concentrating, his hand still inside Carlton's, focusing intently on the place where they met. "Well," he ventured after a long silence, "the good news is, if you ever need to use sign language, I've got your back."

"You know sign language?"

Shawn rolled his eyes, "When will you learn, Lassie? I know everything."

Carlton tried to pull his arm out of Shawn's grip only to discover it was like trying to free himself from the heaviest weight he'd ever felt. Panic at his helplessness set in, but he quickly pulled himself together, turning the storm of emotions on Shawn instead. "What did you want me to come home for, Spencer?"

"Well." He considered, pulling his hand away and granting Carlton blessed freedom of movement. "You know how I can feel your emotions? Like, if I touch you or you touch me?" Carlton nodded, popping the leftovers into the microwave. "Well, I was wondering if I could experience other things too."

"Like?" Carlton prompted.

Shawn considered and rambled as more thoughts came to mind, "Like food. Tasting stuff. And stuff like the rush you get when you're at the gun range or when you're exercising. The actual experience you're having and not just the emotions tied to it."

Carlton wasn't sure he was properly alarmed at the realization that he'd followed Shawn's train of thought perfectly and understood why Shawn had asked him to come home. He wanted to test it, but before he could, he needed Carlton's permission. They'd both been treading on ice since the day Shawn had held his hands down and made him genuinely fear for his own life. Shawn kept his impulsive whims to himself at least until Carlton came home. For him to ask, to directly disrupt Carlton's life – it was actually a rare occasion ever since this arrangement had fallen to the two of them.

The microwave beeped loudly which startled him out of his thoughts and his careful watching of the almost apprehensive look on Shawn's face. "How do you want to do this?"

Shawn brightened, "You don't mind?"

Carlton shrugged, "I'm home, aren't I?"

Shawn directed him to the table and chairs with what passed for a dining room in his apartment. He settled, his own nerves keyed up as he focused down at the almost unappealing fajitas he'd saved from the last time he's eaten out. That was a rarity too. Shawn preferred for him to be home, to have company. And, though he hesitated to admit it, he preferred being home, with him, than eating by himself too.

Carlton picked up the first fajita and steeled himself for a touch on his arm or something simple. But as he bit into the tortilla, he felt two chills, settled against his neck, cupping his jaw, moving to his throat as he swallowed. Shawn murmured breathlessly, "Again." Carlton felt heat flush to his face, but he obeyed.

As he finished the last bite of the first, Shawn made a quiet noise, a small 'mm' in the back of his throat. Carlton smirked and licked his own fingers, surprising Shawn for maybe the first time ever. He heard the tiny gasp, felt his hands recoil away from him. "What's the verdict?" He asked nonchalantly, reaching for the next fajita on the plate.

He turned his head enough to see Shawn's grin, big and bright, roughly the equivalent to when they'd first discovered that he could move the squeaky frog. "Needs more peppers. Give me something with a kick to it."

Carlton felt his own smile widen in response to Shawn's, helpless to stop feeding off his energy. Shawn's limits in the state he was now forced to live in haunted him perhaps more than his death itself. Any time they discovered some flexibility in the perceived rules, Carlton couldn't help but be excited for him, share in his excitement.

Against all odds, they were friends; there was no use denying it.

They continued to eat until the last bite was gone, but even after he swallowed the last morsel down, Shawn's hands stayed on him. He risked a glance up to see Shawn steadying himself, body rising and falling with his habitual breathing that no longer served a real purpose. Carlton almost spoke, but he was distracted by a hitch in Shawn's breath, the smallest shudder that made him think of his earlier breathlessness, the whispered words in his ear.

Carlton stood, pushing himself away from the table and scraping the plate up off the table, walking quickly back into the kitchen, single-mindedly even as Shawn followed, asking, "Lassie?"

The plate clattered into the sink. He gripped the counter, trying to tear his mind away and becoming increasingly frustrated as he discovered that he couldn't. His mouth twisted into a sneer, disgusted with himself. Shawn's touch chilled on his back, and Carlton pulled away, eyes wide as he turned to face him.

Shawn's grin was wide, faltering and fake, "You know, it's normal for a growing boy to have questions and urges-"

"Spencer," he cut him off, shaking his head, refusing whatever comforting lies Shawn had on hand for him. He always had. He couldn't afford to have the wool pulled over his eyes, couldn't let himself 'believe' – let the conman Shawn had always been convince him otherwise. It went beyond the lying about his abilities, the open mockery he made of Carlton's career, his purpose in life. No, Shawn would lie to him still. About his wretched feelings, about the things he was afraid of even as he undeniably knew the truth about them now. "Let it go."

Shawn considered, lips pursed, before he shook his head, stepping closer. "No, I don't think I will."

Carlton backed against the counter, hands gripping it, grounding himself as Shawn continued to close the distance between them, his own hands settling next to Carlton's as he leaned in. Weakly, he insisted, "Shawn."

Once upon a time, Shawn might have pushed himself forward, closing the distance between them, bodies flush as he tilted his mouth up to catch Carlton's. Might have followed through on the years of teasing and unspoken promises that they'd both made. Carlton could have moved, stepped through him, been out the door in less than a minute ready to face the rest of the workday.

But instead he stayed pinned, his heart thudding loudly as every muscle tensed. Shawn looked away but didn't move. He laughed, a bitter, choked noise. "Would it have been different? If I were still all." He shook his head before lifting it, allowing Carlton to see his forced, agonized smile. "Alive."

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not." His own slight smile felt like cracks on ice, spidering out and weakening his entire self. "Could you have stopped chasing O'Hara long enough?"

Shawn flinched, hurt in his eyes, and Carlton lifted his chin. "Lassie," he murmured.

"Don't lie to me, Spencer. This is- it's not what you think it is. You know it just as much as I do. O'Hara, Guster, you would have preferred either of them to me. You still would. In every arena." He reached out, his hand on Shawn's chest, as solidly touching him as he was capable of. "I can't pretend that we're- that we're anything else. That we're capable of being anything else to each other. Or that we ever were."

Shawn frowned, "You think I sit in just anybody's lap?"

Carlton flushed at the memory, Shawn's breathlessness as he leaned into him. "That's beside the point."

"I don't think it is."

"Yes, but you're also looking forward to moving on, aren't you? You get to leave all this behind. And I get to live with it." He sneered, "Alone."

Shawn pressed his lips together and pressed forward, his lips against Carlton's. His hand that had been settled roughly near Shawn's chest had plunged in, and his fingers curled into a fist in the frozen cold, his breathing stuttering as Shawn leaned into him farther. Carlton's eyes slid closed as Shawn said gently, "Live with me."

"What do you think I've been doing?"

"Want me to be here. Want me."

Carlton clenched his fists again, the words too tight in his throat for him to force them out. He reeled as Shawn's cold invaded, filling him from where they were connected at the lips, at his arm, and he went to take a breath only to find that he couldn't. Ice chilled his lungs, so damn cold that he couldn't manage so much as a shaky inhale, couldn't open his eyes, couldn't move.

Except then his eyes blinked open, an even breath in his lungs as he reeled, looking quickly around the room and frowning in concentration. "Lassie?" The word fell from his lips and his hand flew up to cover them, eyes darting up before he rushed from the room, running into the wall and spinning, faltering, and righting himself, darting back towards the bathroom to stare at the mirror over the sink.

His face stared back at him, but his eyes were a bright, gleaming hazel; a color that he hadn't truly seen in such a long time that it would have taken his breath away if he were in charge of breathing.

After a quick, nervous swallow, Shawn said, "Oh shit," in Carlton's voice.


	8. Chapter 8

«Get out.»

He wanted to say it, to form the words with his lips and feel them hum in his throat and to speak. Instead, what came out was, "I- I can't."

Carlton panicked. «What do you mean you can't? Just go!»

"I'm trying!" Shawn gripped the sink so tightly, staring at the face in the mirror and leaning forward as if he would slide right out of Carlton's body. "It's not as easy as you'd think."

«It was easy enough for you to get in!» Carlton insisted, followed by a beat of silence and then total embarrassment. «I- I didn't mean it like that.»

Shawn laughed humorlessly and scrubbed Carlton's hand down his face before looking back into the mirror. Carlton knew his eyes, knew the color of them, thought of them as one of his better features. It almost revolted him to see Shawn's color in their place, what he'd come to associate with mischief, trouble. What was lost. Until now.

"Yeah," Shawn said, running his hand over the sink. "Yeah, I- Man, you have no idea how great it is to be able to _touch_ things. Look, I can turn the water on and off," he twisted the knob in a demonstration. "Walls are all solid again." Softly, he repeated, stunned, "You have no idea."

«Not to interrupt your reunion with the living world, but I would really like my body back.» He felt bad for saying so, but the idea of riding shotgun for the rest of his life while Shawn drove and Carlton having no way to take his body back made him feel as empty and hollow as a disembodied presence could be. He tried, again, to seize the reins, and he felt it, a lancing pain through their shared head, making them both cry out in agony so intense that Shawn had to blink several times for the darkness to fade from their vision.

"Ow," he said emphatically, as if Carlton hadn't felt it himself. "Look, I'd give it back if I could but short of dying, I don't think it's gonna let me go!"

«Look, okay, calm down. Step one, we need to call O'Hara. You'll have to lie to her.»

Shawn paced out of the room, muttering, "No can do." He paused to lean against the wall, physical exertion taxing his weak will to direct the body that wasn't his.

«I can't not show up to work, Spencer. Not an option. Call in, just say I'm sick, and hang up. No big deal.» 

"No big deal?" Shawn's voice strained at the words as he forced himself to form them. "Yeah, no big deal. I'll be holding your phone in my hand, the gateway to seeing Gus, Jules, my family, just one call from telling them everything I should have. I could make this right."

Carlton's response was instantaneous, heartfelt, «We'll figure it out. I promise. We'll find out a way for you to talk to them and tell them everything. But first, I really need you to do this for me. I need to know I can get my body back. We can move forward from there.»

Shawn hesitated, chewing Carlton's lower lip. His hands moved, clapping together and rubbing the palms together. "I'll hold you to that."

«I know. I mean it.»

Shawn's voice softened, fingers combing between each other nervously. "Even if it means moving on?" He turned Carlton's hands over, palm up before he bent Carlton's fingers back down, examining his nails.

Carlton crushed the wave of fear that threatened to overtake him, trying to view this as the inevitable, the ultimate end goal even if it made him feel so empty when he thought about the future. «Even if.»

Shawn nodded and reached for his cellphone. "Okay. Growly voice, take no prisoners, and then we'll figure out how to get me out of here." He paused again, breath catching in his throat when he looked down at Carlton's contact list, organized alphabetically with the most important numbers sitting at the top with an asterisk beside them.

* Shawn Spencer

"Why?" His voice was quiet, subdued as his thumb underlined his name.

He had thought about it, of course. He knew he should have deleted it, but he couldn't bring himself to. It seemed wrong, the way everything mourning or saying goodbye to Shawn had seemed wrong. «I don't know.» It was the only honest answer there was. «Delete it if you want.»

Shawn shook his head, pursing his lips before he finally said. "I don't want that at all. I thought you would."

«Yes, well. You were wrong.»

"You're full of surprises, Lassie." He scrolled back up to Juliet's name, reading it over and over again, gathering courage and every moment feeling like it might be too much. "Okay. All right."

He clicked her name and brought the phone up to his ear, his hand shaking slightly and his throat clenching. Carlton stepped in quickly as the phone began to ring. «Repeat after me. Just say my words out loud.»

The phone clicked as Juliet picked up. His heart leaped the moment she spoke, "Carlton?"

«O'Hara.»

"O'Hara," he repeated after only a slight pause. Carlton fed him his lines, listened to the echo of his voice from the outside, "I'm not going to be able to make it back in. I'm feeling sick."

"You don't sound quite like yourself," she confessed. Shawn chuckled, and Carlton pulled him back on track. "Are you okay? I mean, you never miss work."

"Nothing some hydration, medication, and comfort food won't fix." Carlton could feel it, could feel Shawn hesitating, almost giving into temptation.

«I'll see you tomorrow.» Silence. Shawn's hands shook, his head spinning, heart thundering until he thought it might burst. «I'll see you tomorrow. Say it, Spencer. Then you can hang up and this'll be over.» Shawn backed against a wall, his breathing quickening, deep gulps of air, panic. «Shawn!»

"I-I'll see you tomorrow."

"Carlton, are you-"

"I'll see you tomorrow. Don't," he growled, ad-libbing, "come over to check on me. No need for both of us to be miserable. Got it?"

There was another beat of silence, this time her's, before she finally said, "Yeah. Get feeling better. See you tomorrow." Shawn held onto everything, the tone of her voice, the sound of her breathing, until she cut the connection and hung up.

The phone fell from Shawn's hands, and he clasped his arms around his body, eyes clamped shut as memories threatened to rise, and Carlton could see them, flashing quickly through his head. Her smile the first day they met, the sound of her telling him not to kiss her as her lips moved next to his, holding her hand as he pretended not to be able to skate.

Carlton hurt in a way that was undefinable. There was nothing of his that could hurt, no mind or body or anything more than the essential threadbare existence he was sure he still had. And all that he was ached unbearably like the first night Victoria asked him to leave, like his badge and gun and purpose in life being confiscated after being framed, like finding out that Shawn was gone forever having never really known how important he was to him.

Miserably, he wondered if it might not be best this way. Shawn could have a second chance at the life that had so loved him, and Carlton would... well. It hardly mattered what happened to him, did it?

"It matters to me." Carlton pulled himself out of his spiraling thoughts to find that Shawn was standing stable on his feet, stooping only to pick up his phone and inspect it for damage before slipping it back into his pocket. "I mean. If you wanted to know."

«Does it.»

Shawn didn't even have to think, "Yeah, it does. I want you to have your body back. I want you to live your life. I want you to be happy." Carlton didn't respond, stewing in silence until Shawn spoke again, his voice softer, "Lass, just because I had..." Bit his lip and reconsidered, "Or have feelings for Jules doesn't mean I don't, you know, feel stuff for you too."

«Don't.»

"No, you," he said, petulant. "I can feel you getting all sour and sad and stuff, and man, I get it, but come on. Like you didn't know already."

«I know you're a conartist with superb observation skills that every detective alive should envy, and that it can't have been difficult to guess. I know you try to find someone's good side and skate along the edge of it regardless of the implications of your actions or their feelings. I know you have had access to my emotions, and that you have a habit of manipulating them to get what you want. I know you, Spencer. And maybe you do actually want me to have my body and my life back. But don't pretend there's more to it than that.»

There was an immediate backlash, denial and pushing as if they could physically separate. It hurt, the worst, searing headache that lingered even when they stopped pushing away from each other. "You're wrong. I mean, not about all of it. But parts of it, a big part of it, actually – but whatever. We obviously can't get out of this on our own. We need help."

«The medium.»

"Yeah." Shawn grabbed the aviators, ran his fingers back through Carlton's hair, mussing it and starting to go to the mirror again before Carlton stopped him. "I could make you look so awesome."

«No.»

"Do you know how long it's been since I could preen in a mirror, dude? I need this. Maybe dye your hair with some white streaks in it, get you some eyeliner; I think you could rock the post-45 punk."

«I'll kill you.»

Shawn laughed, "What? Again?"

«I'll kill us both. Then what will you do?»

"Haunt your ghost. Duh." Shawn smiled, and Carlton himself felt relieved, somewhat, that they had agreed to drop the argument. He didn't doubt it was for the sake of relative peace, but nevertheless, it was welcome. Shawn grabbed the phone again. "Gonna call her, okay?" Carlton felt the temptation again, to call Gus or Henry or his mother, but Shawn reached for his wallet and pulled out Magdalene's number, punching it into the phone.

"Hey, Mags, this is Shawn Spencer, the – uh – ghost. Except I'm a lot more fleshy right now, and Lassie's kinda pissed, and we were wondering if you could help me get out of his body because it doesn't really seem like we can do it on our own."

"Give me your address, and I'll be right over."

«Don't tell her where I live!»

Shawn rattled off the address anyway and, smiling sadly, hung up the phone. "I'll probably be out of your head in no time."

«Oh, how I wish.» It wasn't until after he said it that he became aware of the meaning Shawn could pull from it, and, panicking, he tried to amend, but Shawn cut him off.

"It's okay, all right? Don't worry about it. We're just two dudes in a really weird situation, and you're handling it like a champ. Grace, dignity, poise, all of that kinda stuff. You don't have to worry."

«Why would I need to be worried?»

"I can hear all of your little thoughts right now. I know, whether you'll admit it out loud or even to yourself," he explained, making his way across the living room to sit in the spot he usually occupied when Carlton was in the living room, "that you're worried that I'm going to... exploit what I know. That I'll play off it to get my way and get you to do everything I want without actually thinking about you. But believe it or not, I am. I know, one day, who knows how long ahead, I'll leave, and you'll be alone, and that's going to be hard enough to deal with when we're friends. Much less if we... y'know. Get involved."

«As if you've considered getting involved with me.» Carlton couldn't help the bitterness, the reminder that if not for their situation, this never would have happened.

"Lassie, dude, I once hid a polar bear from the police. I accidentally helped Despereaux escape from jail and then seriously thought about not doing anything about it. I once did a shot of straight jalapeño juice for like five bucks. A whole $5. I have considered many things in my life and after, many stupid, irresponsible things for the sake of a case, for looking cool, to impress someone I liked." He smirked to himself, sighing with a small chuckle, "I considered propositioning your first partner and seeing if she'd throw you in as part of the package, dude. Day _numero uno_. And the way you looked, wasted, before the astronomy case? I wanted to take you home and nurse your hangover the next morning and make you so happy any way I could. So don't act like it's never crossed my mind, like you were somehow unworthy of my attention or something like that. And maybe buck up a little. Once I'm out of your body, I'm probably out forever. I'm looking at the rest of eternity as a faint, uncomfortable breeze where you get to be alive and meet people and go out and do something good in the world. Of the two of us, I'm the one that should be sulking. Cap-ee-che?"

« _Capisce._ »

"I've heard it both ways."


	9. Chapter 9

Magdalene Grant was at the door and then admitted into his home without much of a fuss. She stood on her tiptoes, meeting his eyes, and she mumbled, "Huh. Interesting."

"Interesting what?"

"Carlton's eyecolor changed, correct?"

"You picked up on that?" Shawn wasn't meek or concerned or even bothered by her prying. "You must have crazy good memory."

"Details like that stick out to me. Things that are wrong." She tilted his head down and looked up at his eyes with a squint of her own. "Most of the time, there won't be really visible changes. Body language, sometimes pattern of speech, but all of that comes from the ghost. I've seen some peoples' eyes go black when the ghost possessing them feels threatened or angry."

Carlton flashed through the only memory he had of Shawn's eyes changing. Pale, glazed over in death. Shawn pulled away from Maggie with a nervous laugh. "Thanks for the mental image, Lassie."

Maggie raised an eyebrow, but Shawn shook his head. "It's nothing. So! How are you gonna get me out of here?"

Carlton'd had nightmares like this before. Where Shawn traipsed into the station, a romantic dinner with Victoria, a family event and took over. Began talking over him, silencing him, capturing the attention of everyone else, and when Carlton tried to speak, his throat constricted and he couldn't talk, couldn't breathe. Was left on the sidelines as Shawn took over his life.

Those had been in the beginning when he hadn't trusted Shawn at all, when he'd been an enigmatic annoyance that had represented almost every insecurity his childhood and Victoria had managed to give him.

Shawn paused and frowned, listening to him instead of to Maggie, and Carlton could've kicked them both for it. "Sorry, Mags. Lassie was talking. He's a little, itty-bit concerned that you won't be able to separate us."

Maggie nodded, "It's a frightening experience to be in. All I have to do is separate your essence from his. If you were more hellbent on staying, that might take a complete exorcism to get rid of you completely, but that's not the case, right?"

"I miss having a body, but Lass likes his so much – I should probably give it back."

Maggie smiled. "In that case, it should be pretty easy. Sit here for me if you would, Shawn," she gestured to Carlton's favored chair and for the first time, Carlton noticed her purse that she sat on the coffee table. "How are you holding up, Carlton?"

«Fine.»

"Really," she said, looking at them both with a raised eyebrow. "Do I want to know how you two ended up in the same body to begin with?"

Carlton thought of the kiss before he could stop himself, but Shawn swept in. "You can hear him?"

"Yes, but barely. I can hear him the way I can hear you when you don't have a body."

"Huh. Cool." He grinned widely, and it made Carlton's face hurt. "So, what kind of doctor are we gonna be playing?" Shawn leaned forward and peeked into the dark depths of her purse.

She pulled out a variety of items including a Bible with stickynotes marking pages, holy water, chalk, salt, various sorts of nonsense, and he felt Shawn's smile shift smugly at that thought. Neither of them knew what she was doing, but they knew that beneath all of the flash and dazzle, there'd be a much simpler explanation.

It came in the form of a candle that she lit and sat on the table, on a coaster at Carlton's sharp reminder. "Hopefully, I won't need the rest of this. If Shawn behaves, and if his spirit acts as I think he will, this should be really easy."

«And if not?»

Maggie turned her back to them, walking towards the light switch and turning them off. "You'll get your body back. I promise."

A sudden uneasiness wormed its way through both of them, though Shawn seemed to take some form of relief from the fact that Carlton didn't enjoy the idea of Maggie trying to get rid of Shawn completely. On that, at least, they were agreed.

"All right," Maggie said, her voice softer as she sat on the couch. "Shawn, I want you to focus on the candle."

Shawn rolled his eyes, but then they landed on the flickering flame. Carlton could feel the rapid whir of Shawn's mind, noting the length of the candle, the way wax was already starting to bead at the top, ready to roll down the side in a matter of moments, quick guesses as to how long it would take for the light to extinguish. Carlton was impressed, and Shawn's smile widened just a bit.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and Carlton began to wonder if Maggie had just intended for this to be the entire attempt. But Shawn's thoughts began to slow, his hyperfocus honed in on the light.

"Shawn, I want you to stay focused on the light."

"Okay?" His eyes almost slid to her, but they then fixed resolutely on the candle. "I can do that I guess."

"You guess?"

There was a spark of rebellion. A need to disobey direct orders for the sake of being in control wormed its way through their shared mind, but Carlton gently pushed to remind him that he wasn't in control and wouldn't be unless Shawn gave in and let Maggie help. He focused on the light. "Don't look away, easy peezy. What's next?"

"Just stay focused on the light."

Neither of them were convinced it would work, but they both had the common sense not to say anything about it. But they were both undeniably smug that the other was apparently thinking the same thing. Carlton could feel Shawn searching for something to keep him interested. He analyzed the color of the flame, the cool inner blue transitioning to the yellow outside, the edges flickering red as it moved. «Shawn.»

Silence. It was unnerving.

«Spencer, are you still there?» There was something like an affirmation, hazy and loose in acknowledgment.

Then, the candle blew out and plunged his apartment into darkness.

Carlton panicked, blinking in the dark and trying desperately to see that Shawn was still there, still present, hadn't been forced out or somehow hurt. The lights came on, and Carlton released a sigh of relief to see Shawn sitting on the ground in front of him, staring intently at the candle before blinking in realization with a quick shake of his head, coming out of the hypnosis.

Carlton reveled in the freedom of movement, flexing his hands, curling his toes, standing of his own free will. Shawn blinked down at his hands before reaching out to the candle, finger phasing through the wick. He pulled his hand away slow, the obvious frustration at not being able to feel vanishing quickly, replaced by his usual facade. "You're a hero, Mags," he said with a grin. He leaped into the air, hovering over to her. "How can I ever repay you?"

"You can behave yourself," she suggested though her lips twisted into a small smile. "And don't possess Carlton again."

"Let's say I don't exactly have control over it and it happens again even if I swear it won't." He was the perfect picture of twisted innocence. "Will that candle trick work again? I mean, it pulled me out no problem."

Maggie huffed a small laugh. "Give it a try, and call me if it doesn't." She looked between Shawn and then to Carlton, her gaze lingering on him. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"That'll happen." She pulled her purse up onto her shoulder. "Given that you're not furious, I'm assuming this was an accident."

"It was!" Shawn insisted, reaching out to touch her and recoiling instantly, clutching his hand to his chest.

"It was," Carlton said. "I don't have a doubt in my mind as to that."

Maggie nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear nervously. "Good. I'm so glad to hear that." She smiled, but Carlton could see something forced in it, a lie that, if they were alone in an interrogation room, he would have stopped at nothing to get at. "Be careful. Unintentional or not – possessions get harder to break the more acquainted the spirit is with its chosen body. These matters tend to escalate quickly."

Carlton understood why he suddenly didn't trust her. She hadn't looked at Shawn once since she'd begun questioning Carlton like he was a victim. Like he needed her protection. "I trust you can see yourself out."

"Of course. I'll leave the candle, too."

Carlton jerked his head roughly. "Take it." He wanted nothing of hers in their home.

Reluctantly, she walked back over and picked it up. Carlton lifted his chin, crossed his arms and waited until the door clicked closed behind her before he allowed the tension to unwind in his shoulders.

"Wow, that was rude."

Carlton snapped, "It was justified."

Shawn turned his head to look at him, a momentary look of hurt suddenly dawning into understanding. "No, man, I was talking about her." He shrugged, "I mean, I get it. She's probably got a reason for not taking my word on it, but to completely ignore me?" Sulking, he decreed, "Totally uncalled for."

"Did it hurt?" Shawn blinked blankly. Carlton clarified, "The separation."

"Nah. It didn't really hurt. It kinda felt like a waterslide, except I didn't mean to go down it, and it was really cold at the end." He shuddered, rubbing his hands over his arms as if it could make him warmer, could make him feel anything. "You don't really think about how cold it feels until, y'know. You've had something else." His lips tilted into a faint smile, forced. "Being a ghost sucks."

"I bet." There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on uncomfortably, Shawn seeking something and finding himself unable to pin it down, and Carlton struggled for a moment before he sighed. "Come here."

"Why?" Shawn hovered out of reach, suspicious.

"Just come here," he ordered sternly. Shawn floated a little bit closer, hesitating. Carlton held out his hand. "Promise me you'll stay out there."

"That's it?" Shawn's grin returned in full force as Carlton nodded. He reached out tentatively, palm against Carlton's as his fingers traced his arm, gentle frozen pressure on his pulse as Shawn met his eyes. "Thanks, Lass. For all of this, and for sticking up for me and stuff." He breathed out softly, "I know it's the right thing to do, so you probably didn't even think much about it, but you could've gotten rid of me for real, and she- she probably wouldn't have minded."

"I wouldn't do that to you."

Shawn pulled his hand back, looking down at it. "When I touched her, it hurt. Like, legitimately, for the first time since I died." He scowled, "That can't be good." Looking up at Carlton again, he slowly landed on the floor, looking almost exactly the way he would've if he were still alive. "I'm going to keep tailing her while you're at work. Something's going on, and I want to know what."

Carlton wanted to talk him out of it, but there was something about this particular brand of Spencer stubbornness that he knew he couldn't win against. "Keep me updated." Scowled at the stray thought, the reminder that this kind of wandering off had gotten him in trouble in the first place, and Carlton added, "Be careful."

Shawn's smile softened. "Yeah. I will."

"Good. Now, what do you want for dinner?" Carlton asked, unable to help his own smile when Shawn's expression lit up in excitement. It wouldn't hurt to share that experience, and really, it was something that made Shawn excited, had him listing off everything he'd missed tasting since he died. The list was long and many items impossible. But Carlton resolved to try, even if it meant he'd be absolutely sick of pineapple by the time they were done.


	10. Chapter 10

There was something almost like a semblance of normalcy in his day-to-day routine. He worked the same as he always did, and when he came home, Shawn was waiting or had left a message either through writing on his bathroom mirror or leaving a staticky message on his voice mail.

The puzzle of Magdalene Grant was tricky. Due to her heightened perception of the supernatural, Shawn couldn't get close enough to do his more intense sleuthing. Her office was warded against invasion. Shawn came home claiming that the hand that touched the border felt 'number than everything else', his arm hanging limp and refusing to move for a few hours. Carlton had advised him to stay away from it.

It was a mystery that consumed his idle thoughts, but he had so little time for those these days. He could barely balance a home life on top of the sudden strain at work, and the reminder of the last days of his marriage stung anew when he went a day without being able to speak to Shawn.

"Ugh, when is this guy gonna show up?" It came out as a series of murmurs, communicated through the eye contact made through the rearview mirror. Carlton's eyes flicked to Juliet in the passenger seat, but she gave no indication of hearing Shawn from where he lounged in the backseat. "You know how many stakeouts I've been on in my life? And unlife? Did you know that this is somehow the most boring of all of them?"

Carlton rolled his eyes. When he looked back at the mirror, Shawn was sinking through the cushion. He was gone and back in a second. "Since we're here for the next forever, I checked on your engine. Your oil's fine, but something may have been nesting up in there. It's not there now, but I _know_ how you feel about squirrels..."

Shawn was content to ramble, distract from his nearness to Juliet while at the same time maintaining contact with Carlton. Something about the night was urging him to stick close. Carlton had neither the means nor the heart to tell him to scram while he was on duty.

"There's his car," Juliet said over Shawn's babble, nodding towards the far side of the street as a distinctive orange car pulled into a parking space, its lights glaring before they finally went dark.

"Oh my god. I'm seeing the Doritomobile in person."

Carlton ignored Shawn as best he could, thankful for the years of repression and biting his tongue that made it easy not to snap at him when Shawn leaned over the seat and said, "Lassie, dude, I want Doritos when this is over." And floated out of the mirror and out of sight.

The guy hurried inside. Carlton didn't doubt that Shawn was snooping after him or in his car. They were here to observe. To wait for evidence of probable cause or to record enough to get a warrant. But the mysterious shades of gray became a lot more black and white at Shawn's insistence.

It wouldn't hold up in court, of course, but it made him more certain of the paths he chose to take.

"Carlton?"

They usually savored silence while on stakeouts, but he didn't refuse to communicate anymore when she wanted to talk. "O'Hara."

"I was thinking about inviting Gus out to do something this weekend. I don't think he's gotten out of his apartment much since..." She trailed off.

"They did everything together," he said, looking into the mirror to make sure they were alone. "I'm not good with touchy-feely crap," he said as a poor excuse for himself.

"But he's our friend."

"He's your friend," he snapped only to bite his tongue. Rephrased, "I'll only make it worse." He knew Shawn would be jealous, would be hurt that his only possible conduit refused to pass his messages on to his best friend.

"You're really unaffected by all of this?"

He turned to look at her, knowing he couldn't begin to explain himself, his situation, how this all really hit him closest in the heart he spent so long trying to deny he had. "No," he said, knowing she wouldn't believe him. "But I know when I shouldn't butt in." She looked as if she might argue, her chin lifting, eyes narrowing in the dark. Said as gently as he was able, having the decency to look away, "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't." Tapped his fingers idly on the steering wheel, eyes riveted on the darkened building they were watching. "I'm not 'best buddy' material. I don't do the whole pal around thing. I'm not-" capable was the word that came to mind, but his inner criticism softened at the memory of the last few weeks, "-good. If you want to reintroduce him to the world of the living, you're better off without me."

"I thought I'd offer."

There was a part of him that soured at the fact that there was no attempt to call to his humanity, that there was no reassurance, no kindness.

But he wasn't exactly surprised, either.

"There's totally a deal going down in there. I'm gonna go mess with his car and see if I can stir something up. Don't get shot," Shawn said as he poked his head in through the window.

"Thank you," Carlton said stiffly to them both.

Moments later, the orange car roared to life, the car alarm blaring through the stillness of the night. Carlton and Juliet both waited as the lights flashed, the wipers swiped furiously.

Over the noise, there was a loud crack of a gunshot, and then their suspect tumbled out of the building and ran to his car. The radio turned on, bass thumping hard enough to shake his bones. Two people walking down the street turned to stare. Witnesses. Shawn would get their information before he returned to Carlton.

The noise died as quickly as it began, and then with another quick roar and a squeal of tires, the car took off from where it'd been wailing just moments before. "I say," he said in a measured calm as if he hadn't just witnessed one of the oddest things he'd ever seen, "we go investigate. I heard a gunshot."

"So did I."

"Get the vests."

\-----

By the time he and Juliet were done giving their accounts of what happened and he was done processing the paperwork for the one arrest they'd made in the ensuing raid, Karen was ready to send him home, and he went after a token resistance.

He didn't expect Shawn to be home, and collapsed with a long, grateful sigh. Silence, quiet. It was becoming unnerving how little he got and how little he cared for the loss. Yet, in some small moments, he found himself relaxing into it, easing into his most comfortable state of relaxation.

The lights flickered overhead. He breathed out what was almost a sigh of relief.

"You can't do that again," he said into the quiet air, knowing Shawn was listening. "Too many big, flashy coincidences, and she'll start thinking something's going on."

"You know how much effort it takes to make a car go nuts like that?" Shawn flopped over the back of the couch. "I mean, piloting a body that made sense to me took a lot of effort from both of us. A car is a completely different animal."

"Well, first off, it's a machine..."

"Shut up," Shawn said with a teasing grin, leaning closer until Carlton found himself staring.

They hovered like that, close, before Carlton reiterated, "We can't do that again."

Neither of them wanted a repeat of their last encounter with Magdalene, and as stubborn as they both were, knowing the risks made them keep their distance when it otherwise wouldn't have mattered.

Shawn sighed dejectedly and floated up off the ground, lounging in midair simply because he could. "I know." He broke the ensuing silence by rattling off the names and addresses of their witnesses, filling in the details that Carlton hadn't been able to, wouldn't have been able to without possibly days of canvassing or more.

Carlton listened and listed, the familiar patterns of Shawn's voice soothing to him now where they used to grate and annoy. He knew Shawn could remind him of all of this at pertinent times – he'd write it all down in his notebook before going back to the station to continue working the case.

The pieces slid neatly into place. They usually did.

Which brought him back to the thing that continued to irk him. He sat up, eyes opening. "We need to go to Magdalene's."

"Um, I tried that," Shawn reminded him. "She's got something keeping ghosts out."

"Good thing only one of us is a ghost, isn't it?"

"I still don't think it's a good idea. She's got some bad mojo, Lassie."

Carlton looked at Shawn evenly. "Are you sure?"

"Have I ever steered you wrong?" Held up his hands when Carlton's expression shifted towards contemplative. "When it mattered?" Shawn insisted with only the slightest falter of confidence.

Carlton had never made a habit of being instantly trusting. He'd never had the luxury of being that naïve, that optimistic. Everyone had their own agenda – he'd known that since he was a child. Magdalene's came more into question with every day that passed by, every bit of information she hid where Shawn couldn't extract it.

"From a distance," he said, refusing to compromise further.

"You want to go on another stakeout this soon?" Shawn asked. His eyes widened, and he whispered, "Are you seeing another ghost?"

Carlton rolled his eyes. "Spencer, I'm trying to help you fill in the blanks."

"Because she might have the key to send me on."

There was an uncomfortable pause. He asked, gruffly, "Is that what you want?"

Shawn hesitated. Clicked his tongue, "Man, I don't know. I'm supposed to want that, and like, don't get me wrong, this sucks. I'm here but I'm not. I just have to watch as- as everyone moves on." Looked away, scowling for a moment before he laughed, dry and bitter. "But who knows what happens after this."

"Heaven?" Carlton supposed.

Shawn shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." He floated up higher, sitting cross-legged in the air as he thought, still avoiding eye contact. "Whatever it is, it's not this. It's not Gus or Jules or you."

Carlton knew without having to ask that Shawn was afraid of it. He could remember too easily how Shawn had been before he was certain that Carlton could see him all the time, that it wouldn't suddenly stop. This world, as much as Shawn no longer belonged to it, was all he knew. This was home.

"Maybe she'll have answers," he said in an attempt to comfort.

"I don't even want answers," Shawn said in a defensive snap. "I want to stay away from her and hope she forgets about us."

"That's not an option." Carlton said, picking his keys up from where he'd dropped them when he'd come in.

"And why not?" Shawn said, his voice rising on a whine.

"Because if she doesn't and we're not ready for her, there's no telling what she could do." Straightened his jacket before reaching up to rub at his eyes for just a moment before letting his will harden, gaining control over himself again. When he opened his eyes, Shawn floated in front of him, watching him with determination in his eyes. "I'd rather know the risks."

Shawn nodded, resigned, "Yeah, me too." Added after a moment, "No more nasty surprises."

"Exactly. Now, get in the car, and pick a restaurant you want takeout from."


End file.
